Helpless
by Tenkasen
Summary: Damian watches, because it's all he can do.


**Title:** Helpless  
**Rating: T**  
**Summary:** Damian watches, because it's all he can do.  
**A/N:** I wanted to explore a sense of complete helplessness. This was the result. Sequel has been made, due to requests for one.  
**Notes:** Post-reboot, New 52.  
**Sequel: "**_Still_ _Here_**"**  
**Don't own Batman.  
One-shot.**

* * *

Damian watches, because it's all he can do.

There's a thick plane of glass between his hand and the other side, but that doesn't stop him being pressed up against it, trying for all his might to develop meta-human abilities and just phase through to the other side. It's as futile as it is foolhardy.

Because on the other side a man screeches and writhes in pain, blind to everything around him inside his clear little prison, a danger to himself and others. He tears into the floor, tearing apart his nails with bits of the concrete, and the blood that drips from his hands are nothing in comparison to the agony that is Venom running through his veins.

Bane's Venom, a supplement of liquid steroids that can grant enormous strength in exchange for a pure, all-consuming addiction that drives many men insane.

Drake flits in and out, mostly staying with Father in the control room. He can't stand there for hours on end like Damian; the sight hurts too much, and he's more use outside, working with Batman to concoct a cure, an antidote, a counter-chemical, anything that would solve this sooner. Withdrawal alone was not an option; the effects were deadly, and there was a higher chance of hell freezing over before any of them would let this life be up to pure luck and sheer will, like it has so many times before.

Damian knows his father had once used Venom to be stronger, to combat crime on a more ferocious level, and to surpass his human limitations. He broke off the addiction through pure willpower, and a _month_ of solitary confinement in the cave.

Granted, Father had used Venom multiple times prior to his change of heart and subsequent willpower-through-withdrawal, and the man Damian stares at had only been injected with it _once_, and by accident. Wrong place, wrong time, and a practically lethal amount put in at once. That was not something Father had done, not something even _Bane_ would have done.

It was a miracle that he was still alive.

A miracle, or just the sheer willpower to live, to fight that keeps him alive. The question, though, was how long that will to keep on existing would manage to combat his own body, a body full of a super-drug that could involuntary force the muscles to bulge and grow, to be physically greater. How long could the spirit last against its own container.

Damian looks into the eyes of the young man now curling into himself, fingers digging hard into his arms. What was once clear, deep blue had turned into a bright, vivid, sickly green. Wild, hurt, and confused. Lost in pain.

The room itself isn't lit, it's dark and cool and comfortable. But even without light, Damian can see the green eyes, glowing unnaturally, blinking rapidly like a beacon of misery. Flash on, flash off, seventy times a minute. Damian counts, and if each bat of the eyelids was a signal of pain, he figures he should probably inform Drake and whoever else Father may had gathered to help, which was limited to Pennyworth and possibly someone from Batman Inc., to hurry up.

There's a new flood of emotion that Damian can identify that he refuses to acknowledge; an overwhelming sense of jealousy towards Drake. Because Drake, for all his stupidity, has some use, notably in planning and ridiculous, left-field useless knowledge that miraculously becomes useful in day-today life as a crime fighter.

It enables Drake to be of use, of actual, working, _use_. To help Father and Pennyworth engineer anything to ease the young man's pain, to erase it entirely, to bring him back to them in one piece.

Unlike Damian.

Damian, who isn't a genius or master detective.

Damian, who at best is a great tool for battle and killing.

Damian, who is _useless_. He can only stand and observe, and _feel_. He tries this empathy thing his eldest brother taught him once; to understand others, he has to think and feel like they would, as if he were them. It's a mostly ignored teaching, but Damian makes an exception for this occasion, because it's _his_ fault. He does not care what Drake or even Father has to say about it, it is his fault for the entire situation.

And so if it's his fault (which it is), he should share the pain. Putting himself through his own brand of suffering isn't equivalent to the pain the young man on the other side feels, but it's the best Damian can do for now. Anything short of actually injuring himself would not make things equal, and actually injuring himself would draw attention to him from the others while it should be on making a cure or _something_. So for the benefit of all, Damian stays quiet, he behaves, and avoids all lectures. He gets a frequent amount of them while acting as Father's Robin, compared to how many he got while with Grayson…

Damian is having trouble restraining his own emotions now, because damn it, _he_ failed. Not Drake, not Todd, _Damian Wayne _did this, and couldn't even do anything to fix it.

Because Robin shouldn't have been standing there. He was his father's son, a descendent of the great Ra's al Ghul! He should have been faster, stronger, better, _just not standing at that very spot and oblivious to the danger behind him _–

The thick glass is thankfully thick and sturdy. Otherwise the enraged, emotional ten year old would have broken it in his rage of pure fury and absolute guilt, racked with emotions that he can do nothing about. Just. Like. Before.

"You!"

Pound.

"_Idiot_!"

Pound.

"This – is – all – your – _fault_!"

Pound. Pound. Pound. Pound.

"You…!"

_–__and then __Nightwing__ is shoving him __out of the way__, a fraction too late to avoid the needle. He has just enough time to send Robin an apologetic smile, that stupid, _idiotic _trademark smile of his, before Venom begins to invade his bloodstream and then Damian couldn't tell who was screaming louder – him or Grayson_

"…_idiot_… you shouldn't… it was _my_ mistake… _I_ should have paid for it… not you… Grayson…"

Damian watches.

The man screams.

Damian watches, because it's all he can do.

Dick screams, because it's all he can do.

* * *

_**Fin.**_


End file.
